


Aurum

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: (including me!!), Angst, Auguste is dead and Everyone is sad, Canon Compliant, Hurt and (very little) Comfort, M/M, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:22:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: He moved things around, trying to find a suitable spot for his new toy in amongst the other knives and daggers, and as he pushed something aside, right at the back, something else glittered in the torchlight. Gold.‘What is that?’ Laurent asked, putting his hand on Damen’s arm to stop his moving. ‘That gold.’He could’ve sworn Damen stopped breathing for a moment. When he spoke, his words were careful, measured. ‘You don’t want to see that.’





	Aurum

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so like. clearly, my hiatus is going well.
> 
> i [tweeted](https://twitter.com/daamiaanos/status/1090574652609458176) about this a few days ago, and it's been stuck in my head since, so!! ya bitch wrote it.
> 
> (aurum basically just means gold in latin.)

The day had been long, filled with too many meetings and councils and much rushing through the palace. They were in Ios, having been called back from Marlas by Nikandros for some annual thing Laurent didn’t particularly care for. Summer was right around the corner, and the air was getting thicker with heat and more difficult to swallow.

Damen had been present at dinner, acting the part of King, with golden laurels in his hair and his lion glittering at his shoulder, chatting with the men who came up to the table to discuss some thing or another. He’d barely said three things to Laurent since they’d arrived together, but Laurent knew that wasn’t his choice. He’d stepped up, now. He had a job to do, and he needed to do it and keep his kingdom under control.

Dinner ended with Damen declaring he was going to retire early, not to be disturbed until morning. The meetings had been going for almost a week, and Laurent had barely seen him, having seated himself in the royal study to deal with matters of his own kingdom.

He retired with Damen to their chambers, to the suggestive brow waggling of Lazar, one of the guards on duty. The other, an Akielon, watched him in a scandalised manner that read _how dare you imply the kings would do such a thing?_

Damen sat on the end of their bed with a sigh, tugging ineffectually at the laurels in his hair, before he gave up with a whine and looked pleadingly to Laurent.

Laurent smiled, wordlessly approaching and releasing the crown from where it had become stuck in his hair. ‘You’ve been doing well,’ he murmured, combing his fingers through Damen’s hair to detangle it. ‘Not many meetings left.’

‘Still too many,’ Damen said, leaning forward and resting his forehead on Laurent’s stomach, wrapping his arms around his waist. ‘We should go to the summer palace when everyone goes. Leave Nikandros to deal with everything in my absence.’

‘Are you sure he wouldn’t prefer to join us and make sure I don’t stab you in your sleep?’ Laurent asked, now rubbing his thumbs over Damen’s tense shoulders. ‘He still doesn’t trust me.’

‘That’s his problem,’ Damen muttered. ‘Please?’

‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ Laurent said.

‘Thank you,’ Damen stood from the bed and kissed Laurent’s cheek. ‘I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back before morning.’

‘I should hope so.’

Damen smiled and removed his lion pin, catching his cape before it fell to the ground, and folded it neatly. He headed for the door, stopping with his fingers on the bronze handle and turning back like he wanted to say something. Whatever it was, he shook his head and opened the door, leaving the room in silence.

***

Laurent knew he shouldn’t worry. Damen said he’d be back by morning, and while it had felt like a joke, the moon had crested at least an hour ago, and a small part of Laurent was concerned that Damen might be in trouble. The more rational part of Laurent knew that was ridiculous, because he knew exactly where Damen was.

The night had cooled the air, and while Laurent wasn’t cold, he also didn’t necessarily want to stride through the palace in his current state of undress, so he grabbed a silk robe from where it was draped over the back of a chair and pulled it on as he left his and Damen’s chambers.

‘Majesty,’ Lazar said, barely bothering to straighten from where he was leaning against the wall. ‘Do you require escort?’

‘No, and if anyone comes looking for Damianos or I, we don’t want to be disturbed.’

‘Of course,’ Lazar nodded. ‘No one goes in.’

Laurent gave him a curt nod and headed down the hall, his footsteps soft and almost silent while he swung his boots in his hand.

The palace was nearly deserted at this time of night, only a few servants scurrying around, a couple of pets from Veretian lords slipping through doorways and out to the colonnades for cooler air or a moment of respite. They ignored Laurent in the same way that he ignored them – a moment of suspicion before realising the other’s motives and allowing them to continue in peace.

Laurent made his way quickly through the kitchens and out towards the training areas and royal forges attached. It was here that Laurent tugged his boots on, walking to the entrance of the forges, where a smith sat outside, drinking from a waterskin.

‘He’s inside?’ Laurent asked in careful Akielon.

The smith nodded. ‘Making a mighty noise. Had to leave before he gave me a headache,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘Hope he doesn’t make noise like that in bed.’

At first, when Laurent had started talking to the smiths, their bold manner startled him a little. They were open and casual with Damen, to say the least, treating him no differently than each other. They acted towards Laurent in much the same way, now, and it was refreshing to be treated like just another person. These men were easy to like, if a little gruff at times (which was why Laurent now made sure to wear shoes to the forges) and Laurent was glad Damen had this place to forget his responsibilities for a while.

Laurent glanced to where he could hear the clanging of metal hammering metal and raised an eyebrow as he looked back to the smith. ‘No,’ he grinned. ‘Usually it’s me.’

The smith blinked, then roared with laughter. ‘You Veretians might not be so bad!’

Laurent just shrugged, still a smile on his face, and went inside. He tugged his robe around himself a little so the delicate fabric wouldn’t catch on anything – half-finished swords or knives sticking off the benches, discarded tools, _fire_ – and made his way to Damen’s designated corner.

His workspace was the same disorganised, slightly charred area as the other smiths’, covered in half finished projects, and one completed throwing knife that Laurent knew he’d take to the armoury before bed.

He looked up as Laurent approached, hitting the metal a few more times, before sinking it into a bucket of water, steam hissing as it came into contact. ‘Hey,’ he said, pulling the metal out and slapping it on the bench. ‘What is it?’

‘I just came to see how you were doing,’ Laurent said, eyes running over the sweat that glistened across his skin, and what had gathered at the neck and back of his chiton. ‘You’ve been here for hours.’

‘What time is it?’

‘After midnight.’

Damen frowned and looked at the array of things on his bench. ‘Hmm.’

‘You don’t need to finish everything tonight,’ Laurent said, going across to pick up Damen’s newly completed knife. ‘Though, this is very nice.’

‘I need to re-sharpen it,’ Damen said, turning it in Laurent’s hand and running his thumb along the edge, showing Laurent there was no damage to his skin.

Laurent sighed as Damen took the knife and started to sharpen it on a whetstone, turning his back to him. ‘Damen, come to bed.’

‘This won’t take long,’ Damen muttered, dragging the blade’s edge across the stone. ‘You can wait, if you want.’

Laurent resisted the urge to sigh again, knowing it would get him nowhere when Damen was in a mood like this, and instead leaned against the other bench and watched him work.

Damen knew his way around these items, this equipment. He suited it, like maybe in another life, he would spend all his time in here making weapons, instead of leading his country and going to meetings that he was here escaping, anyway.

Laurent knew that most, if not all, Akielons knew their way around a forge. Damen had told him how one of the rites of passage for any Akielon destined to serve in the military forces was to make their own weapon, something with a sharpened edge that was capable of taking a life. The Akielons thought that if their soldiers knew what went into making weapons, then they would respect them, and they’d be prepared to use them in the way they were destined to be; not messing around and harming themselves or others needlessly.

Damen, however, probably had more experience with the forges than most. He came down here when he was stressed, and had been doing so since the time he could take responsibility for himself among the fires and red-hot coals. That was also, Laurent figured, why the smiths treated him the way they did. Most of them had probably been working in the forges since Damen was a child, and had watched him grow into a king.

Damen had stopped sharpening his blade now, and Laurent had lost track of how long it had been. Damen had a cloth in one hand, and was running it along the blade to clean it of dust, as he watched Laurent watch him. ‘What?’ he asked.

Laurent smiled a little and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Damen dropped the cloth and touched the edge of the blade, nodding in satisfaction at the sharpness. ‘We can go now. Need to stop past the armoury.’

‘I know,’ Laurent said, taking the knife from him so he could remove his leather apron and hang it next to his bench. ‘Feel better?’

‘I’m too tired to feel stressed,’ Damen replied, taking the knife back and spinning it. ‘So, I guess so.’

‘Good,’ Laurent pushed off the bench and leaned up to kiss Damen quickly, but stopped halfway and frowned. ‘Maybe not until you’ve been to the baths.’

Damen cracked a smile, the first genuinely happy one Laurent had seen all day, and ducked his head. ‘That’s fair.’

Laurent nodded towards the door, and Damen set off to the armoury, stopping just outside the forges to talk to the smith still sitting there.

‘Good,’ the smith was saying, inspecting Damen’s knife. ‘Couldn’t have made it better myself. You would’ve been a fine smith.’

Damen raised an eyebrow as he was handed back the knife. ‘I _have_ made a fine smith.’

‘That too. Goodnight, Damianos.’

‘Night,’ Damen nodded, taking Laurent’s hand and heading to the armoury, just next door.

There was a section at the back, a small room, for the royal armour. Most of it was organised neatly, but the wall of shelves and racks for things Damen personally made were packed. He moved things around, trying to find a suitable spot for his new toy in amongst the other knives and daggers, and as he pushed something aside, right at the back, something else glittered in the torchlight. Gold.

‘What is that?’ Laurent asked, putting his hand on Damen’s arm to stop his moving. ‘That gold.’

He could’ve sworn Damen stopped breathing for a moment. When he spoke, his words were careful, measured. ‘You don’t want to see that.’

‘I’ve already seen it, Damen,’ Laurent said slowly. ‘I just want a closer look.’

Damen seemed to be weighing up his options, eventually deciding that it wasn’t worth the argument, and slid the item – a sword – off the back of the shelf, swinging it around so it pointed down, offering it to Laurent by the hilt.

Laurent swapped it for the knife he was still holding, and ghosted his fingers over the gold filigree of the basket hilt. Somehow, he had a feeling if he pulled the sheath off, that gold would continue down the blade dancing down the central fuller of the blade, and sure enough – there, inlaid in the silver, was the delicate gold pattern he expected.

He glanced up to Damen as he slid back the scabbard. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, voice low and quiet, even in the stillness of the room. ‘This isn’t your style.’

‘I know,’ Damen said, slipping his new knife amongst the others on the shelf and folding his arms defensively over his chest. ‘But I made it.’

‘You made this.’

Damen swallowed audibly and took the sword, rubbing his thumb over an invisible mark on the hilt. ‘Years ago. I was… not much younger than you.’

‘Did –’ Laurent stopped and his fingers found the edge of his robe, picking at a thread barely above the fabric. ‘After Marlas.’

Damen nodded. ‘I spent weeks not being able to sleep, the battle replaying in my mind, and all I could think about was his sword.’

His sword. _Auguste’s_ sword. That was why he recognised it. A memory, one he hadn’t thought of for years, came back to his mind’s eye – Laurent, maybe seven, seeing his brother come back from his lessons, with a beautiful sword, much like this one, in his hand. He laughed at the way Laurent’s eyes lit up, and he knelt down to his little brother’s height.

 _Promise you won’t hurt yourself?_ Auguste asked.

Laurent nodded and reached for Auguste’s sword. _I promise!_

 _Be careful,_ Auguste said, taking off the scabbard and holding the blade to take some of the weight, as Laurent wrapped both his hands around the hilt to hold it. _It’s nice, isn’t it? Well balanced._

Laurent nodded again. _And it’s pretty._

 _Yes,_ Auguste agreed with a smile. _It’s very pretty._

And the memory faded. ‘You made my brother’s sword,’ he said, and there was an edge of hurt to his voice, but he couldn’t stop it.

‘Not quite,’ Damen muttered. ‘My brain focused on a lot of things, but some of the smaller, finer things, they never – I could never get them right.’

Laurent nodded, dropping the frayed thread before he ruined his entire robe, and wrapped his arms around his torso like he was trying to hold himself together. ‘Why?’

‘Why were they wrong or why did I make it?’

‘Why did you make it?’

‘It felt like…’ Damen paused, furrowing his brows as he tried to word it right. ‘Auguste and I, we were like two sides of the same coin. We were both doing what we thought was right, we were similar in that respect, just like how we knew that only one of us was leaving that field alive. I guess I fixated on the one thing he depended on to protect him, and when it didn’t… It seemed to haunt me, almost, that it could’ve been me. My sword could’ve let me down, too.’

Laurent nodded. ‘It is… beautiful. You shouldn’t have left it in here in the darkness to gather dust, like –’ _Like Auguste._

Damen seemed to know what Laurent couldn’t say, and he nodded, clutching the sword like a lifeline. ‘But I couldn’t use it. An Akielon with a Veretian weapon, the weapon of the Prince, no less.’

It almost pained him to ask, but Laurent found himself saying, ‘Then why didn’t you melt it down for something else?’

‘I didn’t know Auguste,’ Damen said after a moment, ‘but I could never do that to something I created in his memory.’

‘Oh.’

They stood there, staring at the sword in Damen’s hands, for so long it felt like they would walk outside and into the noon sun. They’d had this conversation before, and Laurent still held Damen accountable for his brother’s death, but he’d long since forgiven him – they were a product of their circumstances, it couldn’t have been helped. He would have preferred his brother alive, obviously, but he didn’t know if he would pay the cost of Damen’s life for it instead.

He’d always feel guilt for that.

‘You can say no,’ Damen said, breaking the silence, ‘but if you want, you can have this sword, because you’re right. It doesn’t deserve to sit in here.’

Laurent looked up a little from where his gaze had sunk to the floor by Damen’s feet. ‘My brother’s sword.’

‘Yes.’

His eyes were back on Damen’s face now, and he looked as young and vulnerable as Laurent felt. Slowly, he reached out his hand for the sword, and Damen handed it to him, looking like maybe a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like with the passing of his sword, he’d finally let go of Auguste’s ghost.

‘I might need to shine it, or sharpen it, or…’ Damen trailed off, watching as Laurent lifted the sword higher to look at it closer to the torch.

Laurent turned to him, and imagined what this must look like. A blond Veretian with a sword created in the royal forges, gold dripping down the blade. He wondered if Damen was regretting that he’d maybe just recreated the very person that haunted him.

‘But for now,’ Damen said, shaking himself from whatever memory _he’d_ slipped into, ‘a bath.’

Laurent nodded, a small smile appearing back on his face as he laced his fingers with Damen’s, going up to his toes to kiss his cheek. ‘And then bed.’

**Author's Note:**

> hrrgghgh i'll go back to semi-hiatus now bc lbr, full-hiatus was never going to work!
> 
> in the meantime, find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/daamiaanos) and [tumblr](http://damiaanos.tumblr.com)~


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